"Darlin', are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You sure?"
Evidently, that was not the thing to say, because Harper's eyes began to rapidly and fruitlessly blink back tears. Her hand moved up to scrub at her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright, darlin'," Bucky assured gently, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You don't need to apologize."
"I do," she insisted. "You shouldn't have to cuddle a ticking time bomb."
He carefully pushed her dark hair from her face. "I don't feel like I am, okay? But, doll, what's wrong?"
"It's been a really hard week at work, and today was just awful," she sniffled, rubbing underneath her eyes. "You know that client I was telling you about? The super nasty older guy?"
"The one who opened the door with his dick out when you went to see him last week?" Bucky asked darkly.
"Yeah, and who yelled at me literally every time we interacted," Harper nodded. "Well, that behavior last week was really out of character for him, and then the nurse who goes out to see him every Thursday to do medication management had to call an ambulance because when she showed up, he was unconscious on the floor. His blood sugar was low, but he was released from the hospital over the weekend. Since he was in the hospital, I had to go see him Monday once he came home. We talked about better strategies to manage his diabetes, and he agreed to everything, as he always does because he wants me to leave.
"Then the nurse saw him yesterday and reported he was running out of his insulin and couldn't pay for a ride to the pharmacy to get more. He was her last patient of the day, so the pharmacy was already closed. I had an appointment first thing this morning, then went to the pharmacy to get his insulin, and headed over to his apartment. When I got there, he didn't answer the door. I got the building manager and he opened up the apartment. He was unconscious on the floor in a pool of his own vomit. I called emergency services and they took him to the hospital. I got a call a couple hours later. They couldn't save him. They have to do some testing, but best guess is that he got confused and took the wrong insulin that morning. He took the one he should only take at night, went hypoglycemic, and it killed him."
"Gosh, I'm so sorry, Harper."
"If I had prioritized someone who was clearly in danger, if I had cancelled my first appointment and gotten him the insulin he needed, or if I had at least gotten there sooner, maybe he'd still be alive," she murmured, dropping her face into her hands.
"Doll, you can't do that to yourself. Trust me," Bucky said gently. "You could have done everything different with the same result. You never know. And you can't save them all."
"I know I can't. Most people ultimately need to save themselves. But this time, I could've saved him."
Bucky pressed another kiss to her temple and pulled her closer to him as he leaned back into the corner of the couch. His metal hand gently buried itself in her hair, pressing her to lie against his chest. She allowed him to coax her into him, a sigh escaping her lips as she nuzzled a cheek against the soft fabric of his t-shirt. "Harper, it's not your fault he didn't make it. If you hadn't gone there this morning, he wouldn't have had any chance at all. He would've died in that apartment, in his vomit, and not been found for who knows how long. There's not dignity in that. You allowed him his best chance at survival given the situation, and he died in a clean environment where he could be properly cared for. That's not nothin'."
"I hadn't thought about it that way," she admitted. "You're not wrong."
"Doll, I've seen a lotta guys die in some nasty places, their bodies never to be returned to their families. That was a real fear for us. When you're staring death in the face, that stuff matters. A lot. You gave him dignity, and that's huge."
Harper turned enough to press a kiss to his shoulder. "Thank you, James."
"Thank you, Harper, for caring about the people that need it the most."
Blue eyes traced her form as Harper examined the array of mangoes at the fruit stand. She reached out, picking one up and turning it around in her hand. Her eyes were focused on the task, unaware that he was more focused on her. He was still on high alert in crowds, but it helped when she was around. His senses, heightened by his training as a soldier, Zola's experimentation, and decades as a lethal assassin, had a more positive, soothing focal point around Harper. Otherwise, it was easy to overload and to overanalyze in the packed marketplace.
With a few mangoes in her arms, Harper moved next to the plums. Bucky had noticed she'd started keeping her kitchen stocked with them since his affinity for the fruit had been revealed to her. Carefully, he relieved her of the mangoes so she could move around the small stand more effectively. She muttered an absent thanks, continuing her search for quality purchases.
It was Sunday morning, and he had spent the previous night with her, as had become habit. He smiled, thinking about what his mother or Steve would have thought about his weekly sleepovers, even if nothing improper was actually occurring. She had been cutting down her alcohol consumption after some more gentle encouragement, and he knew it was hard for her. It was nice, though, seeing Harper out on a Sunday without a hangover. She wore dark wash skinny jeans despite the heat, and simple sandals with a modest heel. A black band t-shirt completed the outfit. It was so unlike how he usually saw her dressed. Her work attire was mature and serious. When they went out, her clothes were much younger and edgier. Around her apartment, she was simple and comfortable, and often actually wore shorts. But somehow, this simple, casual look seemed to fit her, too, and he couldn't help but find her especially pretty in it.
Harper paid the vendor and they moved a few booths down to a vegetable tent. Lifting a turnip as if to estimate its weight, she asked, "Do you like eggplant?"
"I'm not sure," he admitted with a shrug.
"I'll make a few things and give you some when I see you Wednesday," she decided, already moving down the row to the oblong purple items.
Bucky followed dutifully, content to just be spending time with her. He wondered, sometimes, how she didn't get sick of him. They texted daily, and upheld their Wednesday coffee and lunch dates. They went out on some Fridays now, and he still always went over on Saturdays, spending the night. Then they spent a good chunk of Sunday together, too. He knew Harper was highly independent and also an introvert, and he questioned whether being around her and in her space so often would irritate her, as it was surely taking away from the time she took to recharge. But she never said anything to indicate she might actually feel that way, and he would continue to selfishly spend as much time with her as he could.
As Harper was rifling through a basket of onions, someone roughly bumped into him from behind, knocking shoulders. Immediately, all of his fight or flight alarms were blaring. He twisted to look at the person, who appeared to be a rushed local juggling an armful of artichokes and having a very heated conversation on the phone. The man threw some money down on the counter, snapping into the phone pinned between his face and shoulder. Bucky's entire body was tense. Was this a ruse? Were agents surrounding him? Were they closing in? Had the man bumped him to slip a tracker or a bug on him?
An arm slid through his metal one, hidden as always under a long sleeved shirt. His head snapped downward and saw that Harper's eyes were on him for the first time since entering the marketspace. Her expression was calm, stable. She was watching him, trying to gauge his stability, he was sure, even though he couldn't see that in her eyes. Her gaze was even, her hold on his arm firm enough to assure him she was there and loose enough to not constrict. If he didn't know her, didn't know what she did for work or how she well she understood him, he wouldn't have known how deeply she was engaged in ensuring he was alright after the incident. He slipped his left hand into hers, giving it a light squeeze. Harper grabbed an onion, paid, and led him to the next vendor. He appreciated that she wasn't giving up on the excursion, but that she also never dropped his hand.
"Is it true that all women have their ideal wedding planned before they ever even get engaged?"
"Of course not," Harper laughed, passing Bucky the large mammal previously sprawled across her lap. He set the displeased creature down in his own lap, scratching behind its ears as a peace offering. The old cat leaned into the weary soldier's touch. Even when Harper returned a moment later with a full wine glass and a bottle of beer, the cat stayed put in his lap.
The former soldier frowned and asked, "I thought you were trying not to drink?"
"It's sparkling cider," Harper replied with a glare. She thrust the beer bottle toward him, adding, "But thanks for checking."
"That lacked tact," Bucky admitted with a grimace.
"Little bit," she agreed, then softened with a sigh. "This hasn't been an easy lifestyle change to make, and it's really shitty that I'll have no idea if it's even helping until I've been doing it for at least a year or two."
"I know, doll, but you're doing really well."
"Thanks," she mumbled, eyes shifting back to the television. They were watching some Netflix show about cheap weddings, per Harper's insistence that they partake in something cringe-worthy. Shifting back to his previous question, the brunette said, "There may be times growing up or something when a girl thinks she knows what she wants her wedding to be like, but I feel like that can often change once you become an adult or definitely once there's the required other person in the picture."
"What about you?"
"Me? I've entertained a few ideas. When I was young, I was really into the idea of a beach wedding. As I got older, though, I decided I really like the aesthetics of a winter wedding. There are some seriously beautiful centerpieces you could do for a winter theme. But honestly? I'm not even sure I love the idea of a wedding at all anymore. For myself, anyway. It just seems like too much. Too much money, too much time, too much work…"
"Would you still want to get married and skip the bells and whistles?"
Harper shrugged. "Sure. I'm not opposed to the institute of marriage itself or anything, I just don't get the weight our society puts on it. Like… I can imagine myself being happy and married, and I can imagine myself being just as happy and unmarried, living with the right partner. All that changes is how we'd file our taxes, ya know? And even then, there's common law marriage that'd kick in eventually."
"That makes sense," Bucky nodded, eyes caught by a rather cheap, gaudy centerpiece being arranged on the television. "I probably should have figured as much."
"What're your feelings on the matter?"
"Similar to yours," he replied easily. "I used to think of it as a given, something that would definitely be part of my life. Now, nothing is a given, really. But I guess in a perfect world, all of the pizazz withheld, I'd still love to be married, to wear a ring and see a ring on her finger, too. To prove to myself that despite everything I can still be a husband, if not the perfect, provider type I had first imagined." He frowned, realizing something suddenly. Gazing down at his metal left hand, he muttered, "Although, there wouldn't really be much satisfaction in wearing a ring anymore."
"Couldn't you wear it on your right hand?" Harper asked, lacing her fingers with his flesh ones and lifting the hand as if to prove her point.
"That's not really traditional," he pointed out.
"Do you have to be?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "And anyway, I don't think anyone will think anything of it given the situation, hun."
"I know," he nodded. Avoiding her eyes, he admitted, "It's more me than what other people would think. Feels like something else I lost because of something I had no say in."
Harper gazed thoughtfully at his hands for several moments. Slowly, she asked, "Wouldn't it be sort of neat though, when you hold hands with your wife, that your rings would touch?"
She turned their laced hands toward his bright blue gaze. He noticed that the ring finger of his right hand curled around the ring finger of her left. It would bring the rings together, if worn that way. It was sort of a neat concept. Bucky glanced at Harper before saying, "It wouldn't be the same, but maybe it wouldn't be terrible to wear it on my right hand. I'd at least feel it that way."
He used the lock of their fingers to pull her hand toward him, settling a kiss on the back of her hand. A faint peach flush rose to her cheeks, and he couldn't help but smile. A matching peck was pressed to her cheek before she broke the hold of their hands and pushed him lightly. "Oh, shove off!"
"You wound me, doll," he smirked wickedly.
"You embarrass me," she retorted, sticking her lower lip out in the slightest of pouts.
"I wouldn't have to if you weren't so damn cute," he grinned, stealing a quick kiss and causing her blush to deepen, further proving his point.
"James, when's your birthday?"
"March 10th," Bucky answered, allowing her to make an assumption about the year.
"Well, shit, hun," Harper frowned. "I didn't realize I had missed it. I was thinking this morning that we've known each other for nearly a year, so I guess it shouldn't surprise me that it's already gone by."
"It's been a year already?"
Harper took a long sip from her tea before nodding. "Yeah, it was the very beginning of fall when we'd met. August is coming to a close, and soon we'll be in the comfortably cool days of September."
"So… well, I must've missed your birthday, too," Bucky realized with a deep frown. What kind of boyfriend was he that he hadn't even thought about her birthday?
"It was May 24th," she nodded. "But I don't really celebrate my birthdays. It feels sad. Sort of a reminder of another shit year passing at this point."
"I hear you," Bucky sighed. "Although, as years go, the past one has had a rather positive standout."
"Very true," Harper grinned. Bucky reached across the table and took one of her hands, gently running his thumb back and forth over her knuckles. The brunette smiled softly at the gesture before her expression shifted. "I just remembered! You know, I realized something else the other day. Not only did we never exchange birthdays, but I don't know that we ever even gave each other our full names. Things started out so weird between us, I know it took me a little while to assure myself you weren't some kinda thug or creep."
She laughed, and he forced himself to chuckle along, but Bucky felt no humor. He only felt panic. He couldn't tell her the truth; if she were to ever plug "James Barnes" into a search engine, he'd be willing to guess he would be the top hit, and the only hit that also had a high-tech prosthetic arm. Through a fake grin, he lied, "Yeah, weird. I didn't even realize."
"Anyway, my last name is Montgomery and my middle name is Ann. So there, that super basic info is finally out of the way."
"That's pretty," he couldn't help but smile. "Harper Ann Montgomery."
"I've often thought it sounds very… 'Pride and Prejudice' or something."
Bucky shook his head. "It's mature and pretty. A good fit."
"Maybe. Although, if you're about to tell me your last name is Darcy or something, I'll be totally on board without further annoyance with my pretentious name."
"Sorry to disappoint. My middle name is George, after my father, and my last name is Rogers," Bucky replied, trying to twist the truth with as little deviation as possible.
Harper nodded, clearly committing this new knowledge to memory. Bucky shifted uncomfortably. She observed, "That's a lot of first names strung together, but somehow has a hint of pretention as well. Team pretention, then."
"Team pretention," he agreed with a weak smile which he hoped covered up his guilt.
A/N: Many thanks for the support. I am glad to see that perhaps the growing sexual tension is being well received. I will say things are going to keep progressing in that way as we move forward. The opening scene here with one of Harper's clients is loosely based on an experience of my own. Working in human services and social work is emotionally taxing, man. Anyway, I hope that these slices of Bucky and Harper's shared life are fun to read. Let me know what you think so far if you have the time. Thank you all again!